Baby Brother
by TheSecondBestBed
Summary: There was a different kind of hell even before the breakout, one that the Dixons had to sleep and wake up to every day. Most times it was rough, but there were moments of peace in between. Of family and loyalty. (A pre-ZA story)
1. Chapter 1

**Baby Brother**

**Chapter One**

* * *

"Hey there baby brother" were the first words Daryl heard that morning. His small hands froze their playing as he gazed up to a familiar face, the toy truck clutched within them halting also.

"Merle!" the six year-old spouted excitedly, standing from his place on the floor to greet his older brother at the door; it had been about a week or so since he had last seen him. The boy remembered vaguely as his brother told him he was going out to the store for a drink before vanishing, leaving Daryl waiting out by the porch until it got too dark to see. He waited almost every day after that. But he returned like he always did, unaffected and with a grin playing his lips, as if he really had left for a couple of minutes. Merle let Daryl wrap his small frame around him, not really returning the hug, but ruffling his hair until it became an even bigger mess.

Daryl didn't mind that his brother was gone, in his mind he believed that he was out doing important work or traveling to better places, because when he came back he always brought something special. At times it would be a toy, like his yellow truck that was now so overused it was missing a back tire, and other times it would be food to fill his belly for the day-but not the usual beans from a can, or stale bologna sandwich Daryl was used to-it was chocolate covered nuts, beef jerky, or spaghetti soup that made him lick his fingers afterward.

"Whoa, whoa little buddy" Merle laughed as an eager Daryl began searching his pockets for treasure. With a soft push the older Dixon sent the boy tumbling backwards, he reached into his back pockets and hung a candy bar in the air before snapping it out of his reach. Daryl jumped, but each time he came short of grabbing his prize, and each time he grew more and more frustrated. Merle loved watching his baby brother get worked up, for a small tyke he definitely had a fire burning in his belly.

He remembered one day proudly watching as Daryl took down an eight-year-old bully who had been ridiculing him for days; at first Daryl only cried and begged Merle for relief from his tormentor. Yet Merle just stood there, watching his brother's tears cake on his face. "Ya gotta learn to fight yer own battles kid" he spat indifferently "I ain't always gonna be here" and it was the truth "You show that son'a bitch a lesson." He ended up giving that kid a bloody nose and a couple stitches, and only then when Merle had the satisfaction of seeing Daryl lying over that boy with nothing to lose, he intervened. He stole that son'a bitch's dad's Ford and drove it straight into a lake.

By the time Merle gave Daryl the candy bar, the boy was throwing punches and Merle was hooting with laughter. "C'mon Darylina, you can do better than that!" but Daryl didn't reply, he was too busy shoving the candy in his mouth to say much of anything in his defense. Merle's eyes strayed from Daryl's face for the first time since he arrived home...if he could call it that. It was more of a hillbilly hellhole. Beer cans littered the entire hallway, most of them empty and crushed, but some were half-full and spilled onto the wooden floor; there were dirty clothes and stained bed sheets, along with a bunch of other throw-away shit that no one ever bothered to pick up. Not to mention it smelled like piss, or would smell like it if he wasn't already so used to it. None of this fazed Merle, at least enough to do anything about it. There was just a small, rumbling feeling at the top of his chest that began its cycle as he took in the sight, and considered his brother. How he had to live among garbage like some sort of animal.

"Where's ma?"

"In'ner bed" Daryl managed to say as he chewed the leftover juice from the foil wrapper.

"She ain't woke up yet?" there was little surprise in his question, it wasn't unusual for their mother to have been passed out well after noon. It was nine-thirty on a Tuesday, and he would bet all his money that she was lying on her bed with the lights out, completely wasted from an early whisky session.

"Nah, she been up drinkin'" Daryl confirmed, his fingers fiddling with the wrapper now; a confused and bothered look on his face. "I tried waken her up, but it dun do no good."

"But it _didn't do any good_" Merle corrected, his tone straight and sharp. It shouldn't have been a six year old boy's job to wake up his mother, to get her on her feet and make him some damn breakfast. That was her duty to him...but Daryl would never know that. "Dammit boy, you best fix that speech of yours, we may be Dixons but we ain't stupid. Not completely."

"Not like that Thomas family" Daryl grinned, winning a grin from Merle too.

The Thomas family were a group of three boys; they used to be four until one of them died by drowning in a lake. They weren't a bad bunch, they even managed to keep Daryl company, but they also weren't the brightest either. Although Merle did admit to occasionally stopping by to watch them mud wrestle, and the eldest Den was one hell of a drinker. No one in the town would out-play him in beer pong, that was for sure. He never would've guessed that years from now he'd be plunging a army knife through his skull after he turned. The rest were already dead when they had found them, and it brought an inner sympathy out of him that he didn't know he had. Hell, he'd even admit to missing them a little.

"Exactly" he beamed "the day we're as dumb as them is the day we go on our knees and pray, boy. Which gets me thinkin'..." Merle wiped a stain from Daryl's dirty cheek and wiped it on his own shirt. It was coarse and a muddy color. "...when's the last time you showered?" there was a hint of curiosity and disgust in his voice; Daryl was probably as dirty as he looked, and Merle bet that the last time that boy saw water was when he saw him a week ago.

"Yesterday" the young Dixon lied, and it was an obvious lie too, because every time he fibbed his voice became low and gruff, as if speaking indescribably would make the truth go unrecognized.

"You nasty pig. Don't lie to me" Merle slapped the back of Daryl's head with a laugh "C'mon, I'll give ya a plunge seeing as that asshole won't."

That asshole was what he called their father, Daryl had come to learn that name well. There was always a veil that draped over his brother's eyes when he mentioned him, a shadow in his expression that became unreadable. But that's exactly what their father was...an asshole.

Daryl remembered trying to call him that once. The insult flew from his lips after arguing with his mother, going on about how he didn't deserve her and how they should leave him behind. But all that got him was a slap to the face. "You don't ever call him that again ya hear me?!" his mother's words were harsh to his ears, and before he could control it Daryl began crying. "That man is your father, and you will respect him. You may not like it, but that's the way it is." He didn't understand it then, admittedly, he still didn't. But that was his ma' and he loved her, and he knew she loved him too so he just did as she said.

Funny enough, the memory of that day still burned in his mind; he could hear his mother's cries through the closed doors, and even with his eyes shut he could picture her fresh bruises. He couldn't help her. He was too afraid. He may have acted tough when his father wasn't around, but he nearly pissed himself when he was. The young boy saw exactly what happened when you came in between Daryl Sr.'s path, for he had watched his brother do it time and time again. He witnessed every beating Merle ever took, but he never cried-quite the opposite-the harder Daryl beat him, the louder Merle became. But he didn't have that type of strength, and Daryl preferred being completely ignored by the man than have to see the back of his hand.

Merle never called him father, and he never called him Daryl either. That was his brother's name, and he didn't care if his mother had made the poor choice of naming him after such a monster; that was _his_ brother's name.

No one could spoil what that meant for him.

* * *

"Ya do what I taught ya this mornin'?" Merle asked as he passed the rag through Daryl's arm, watching the brown water spill over the tin tub with the rough strokes.

"Mhm. I tracked down two rabbits and a raccoon" Daryl proclaimed, his fingers dancing on the surface of his tub. "Turns out they was hiding behind the fence al'long."

"The one with the rose bush?" Merle asked, his chest swelling with pride, but his face resisting to show it. He had begun to teach Daryl tracking, and the boy was picking up on it fast. He was smart and a quick learner, something that would come as an advantage later on in his life. They had already caught several animals by his doing, but even then he had refused to kill them. Merle wouldn't push him, not yet anyways; his brother was still young and he would give him about two years of leeway before telling him to grow a pair. Merle knew he'd be upset; Daryl was always the emotional of the two, with a sympathy that stemmed from God-knows-where. Probably another man, seeing as their biological father had none of it. But Merle needed to push him, needed to show him the world was dog-eat-dog, and if you didn't kill you'd be killed.

Tracking also kept the child agile, something Merle wanted him to be just in case things went sour with that asshole. If Daryl couldn't fight now, the least he could do was run and cover his tracks. He'd be able to hide long enough until Merle had the opportunity to kick that man's ass, or worse, kill him; which was a very high possibility. Sometimes it kept him awake at night, the thought swirling in his brain like a fly he couldn't swat, circling in front of him over and and over. So very possible, so many ways it could be done. He didn't even care if he got caught, wouldn't even try to hide it. He just wanted him dead.

"Mhm" the boy answered, startling Merle out of his dark thoughts. With his finger, he poked at a curious snail until it fell off the edge of the bin. "Are you gonna leave again?" The question surprised him, and Merle eyed the boy dubiously before responding. Should he tell him the truth? Most likely. He could never promise that he'd stay, because he knew that anything could set him off soon; he was like a bomb waiting to explode, looking for an excuse to blow up in someone's face. "Get out and dry yerself off" the look his brother was giving him was hard to bear, and he tried-he really did-to think of him before making any rash decisions. But even Daryl wasn't enough; the only person he ever cared about wasn't enough to stop Merle from taking the easy way out. He was always looking out for himself first.

"C'mon" the elder Dixon mumbled after he helped towel off his brother's hair "I'mma take ya somewhere."

"Where?"

"Somewhere better than this shitpen."

* * *

The gasoline station was cool inside, a pleasant contrast to the scorching Georgia heat, and Daryl didn't waste any time in standing in front of the vent. He had only been to this gas station a couple times; it was farther away and required a quick hitchhike on their part, but man was it so much better. The cooler was stacked with every drink imaginable, and the snack racks were spilling over with food he'd never seen before. The boy dragged his hands across each row, taking pleasure in hearing the crackling of each bag. "Damn" he grinned while his eyes shot frantically between one wall of the store to the other. From the corner of his eye he could see the clerk eyeing him, an annoyed expression plastered on his round face, and he was pretty sure he heard him mumble a curse of his own before going back to his magazine. Speaking of which, Merle was entertaining himself with a similar magazine, the kind with women in small suits on the cover that he seemed to be so impressed over; Daryl didn't understand what the big hype about them was, quite frankly they were boring. Just pictures of girls, sometimes there would be a truck in there, but mostly not.

After Merle was done flipping through the pages, and turning the publications in every direction possible, he set it down sloppily and glanced over at the clerk. "Hey" he whispered in Daryl's direction while keeping his eyes on the man "see somethin' ya like boy?"

"Well yeah" Daryl's ears picked up along with his smile "lots'a things!"

"Keep yer voice down dummy" Merle scorned, suddenly finding an interest in a Twinkie box when the clerk's eyes shot to them. "You let me know what it is, and I'll get it for ya" he continued in a hushed voice.

"Really?" Daryl whispered back, his eyes wide.

"Yup" Merle winked, a coy sneer playing his lips "Ya just hand it to me, and I'll take care of it."

Suddenly it clicked for Daryl-this was where Merle found all of his amazing gifts! He was more than elated to know that his brother traveled so far to get them. It wasn't a week's worth of a trip, but who knows what happened in between time? A piece of him was elated, it was as if he was being let in on a secret that he was never allowed to know before; his brother was secretive most times regarding his whereabouts, and when it came to answering questions he was completely elusive. "Small boys like ya shouldn't ask so many damn questions" he'd say when he his temper ran short "now shut yer lips boy 'fore I cut 'em off." But now Daryl was older, and it was different and he could be trusted. He grabbed the brightest bag he saw and tossed it to his brother, who eyed it carefully before shinning another grin.

Then...he did something very funny, he slipped the bag in his jacket. Daryl looked up at him inquisitively, unsure of what to ask or say; maybe it was a mistake, or there was something he wasn't understanding. Yet Merle's sneer remained intact. "We're getting a special discount for this boy, don't ya worry 'bout nothin'."

Then Daryl understood...truly understood this time.

* * *

_**Hello everyone! Thank you for taking the time to read this little story. **_

_**To put it simply, it's going to be a very short story about Daryl and Merle's relationship through time before the ZA. I didn't mean to jump around POVs as much as I did in this chapter, so sorry if it was confusing. But it will mostly center around Daryl in the later chapters, I just didn't think six-year-old Daryl had much to say right now. **_

_**A quick warning: This fic will delve into a lot of sensitive topics such as racism, thoughts of death, abuse, etc. **_

_**I'm not sure where it will all go, but it might offend some. With that being said, I'm not a fan of these things (including cussing!), but I like to stick to the source material and character traits as much as I can.**_

_**Please review and let me know what you think! I'm excited about this one!**_

_**~TS2B**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Baby Brother **

**Chapter Two**

* * *

_'Son of a-'_ Daryl cursed as his bolt crashed into the surface of a trunk; he didn't bother to pick it up, it was was broken and he knew that without even having to look at it. His feet danced around each other, swiftly turning from one position to the next with the crossbow still on cue in his hands. His eyes kept to the ground, looking for any footsteps that would render him an indication of a path.

_'Where are you?'_ his brain wondered, but he kept silent. He needed to let his ears do the work, allow every other sense to heighten before going off and making a useless comment. "Ya need to be observant" his brother would tell him occasionally "Don't go off makin' no stupid judgements 'fore you get a good look at the facts. Best to keep yer mouth shut till ya know the facts, than to yap on like an idiot. That's the trick to all this brother." He'd wave his hand around, as if that were supposed to signify something in particular. "People can think they're as smart as they like, smarter than you even, but ya keep quiet. Pretend ya know nothin' and keep on watchin', then when the time's right" and he'd make a whipping sound with his fingers "ya go in for the kill. Observant, remember that."

Daryl could see that dumb, smug grin on his brother's face even now. He thought he was a genius.

He'd been gone maybe...couple months? He couldn't remember, couldn't really bother to care much either. It was always like that now after their mom died; Merle just couldn't keep it together, always in and out of juvie. It was nice when he did get a chance to see him, but most times that wasn't the case, so Daryl tried to not miss him when he was gone. He was twelve now and not half as needy as he was before; he knew the important things like how to fend for himself and-

A twig snapped behind him, giving the slightest of sounds. Daryl's head immediately turned towards the noise, his crossbow following suit. All his eyes needed to do was spot a small patch of brown fur hidden beneath the shrubbery, and his finger pulled the trigger; in a second a bolt flew through the air and into the body of the rabbit. With one final squeak, the animal lay dead. "Found ya" Daryl smirked, walking to the body and pulling his bolt out, before raising the carcass by the leg and shaking it free of leaves. He had learned to kill now. He no longer winced or looked away. At the age of twelve, he needed to. There was no one there to do it for him, and he learned it was all a part of life anyway.

His first kill happened when he found himself lost in the woods; it hadn't been that long ago, and Daryl remembered the event vividly. The panic that set in once he realized that the trees around him were unfamiliar, the running and how sore his muscles felt after they'd gotten him nowhere closer to his home. Berries kept him by at first, but they were scarce so Daryl made use of his pocketknife. He still felt the way the squirrel squirmed under his hand-poor bastard was lured in with an acorn; didn't see a thing coming until it was too late.

He also remembered it tasted like shit, which was probably due to the fact that his hands were shaking so badly the rodent barely cooked in the fire. But with any luck he wouldn't have to eat another damn squirrel in his life. Now rabbit he preferred, there was a different scent to it that helped it go down much smoother. Knowing that he'd eat tonight, he contently swung the carcass over his shoulder and made his way home.

* * *

"Pfft. That damn dog."

Daryl could hear him from feet away, barking incessantly, frothing, and gulping for air only to make more noise when he caught his breath. That bastard didn't shut up for one second in his life; it was like a constant alarm going off in his ear-courtesy of his old man of course. Only that asshole could think of buying such an unsightly demon, even if it come dirt cheap. He brought it over one day without much of a mention, tied it to a tree, and left it there. Although it wasn't something to call the ASPCA over, hell tied up or not that mutt was treated better than he was! Sometimes the old man would sit outside and drink a couple beers next to it, and Daryl was sure that by the third day of walking past them he'd taught it to bark specifically at him, at least with extra fervor. Yup, those two were best buddies.

Not to mention that Man's-Best-Friend had a bite that was worse than its bark; it wasn't no bluffing dog. Daryl had watched it rip apart raccoons before, making a mess all over the front yard before licking it clean. There was no letting it loose without serious repercussions, so Daryl left it alone.

"Yeah I know, I know" he mused when he began to pass its tree, the dog overreacting on cue as he walked by. Everything was going on as normal until one of the damnest things happened-the mutt lunged forward, and its leash gave in. Not entirely, just stretched enough to let it take a hold of Daryl's rabbit. Daryl nearly jumped outta his skin with he felt that tug! But his surprise was immediately turned into anger, and his hands clutched his end of the rabbit with all his strength. "Oh no you don't!"

Then the Tug of War began, each opponent unwilling to let go. Just when it looked like Daryl would win, the mutt pulled harder, always getting a better hold of meat between its jaws. "This rabbit's mine you prick, let go!" Maybe he spoke too soon, because finally the carcass had, had enough of the tugging, and the flesh that had already been elasticized beyond repair snapped in two. Blood and innards flew everywhere, not sparing Daryl's face and clothes as he stumbled backwards and hit the floor bottom first. "Ughhh-Eck" he grimaced, pulling a piece of kidney out from his mouth; the boy sat up just in time to see the dog devour its half of the rabbit, earning a scowl from him.

"Heeeheee hahahaha heeehee!"

"Who the hell's laughin'?" The youngest Dixon turned his face toward the sound of roaring laughter, ready to punch the lights out of the jokester. But it was just Crazy Stan, and he lowered his fists albeit the scowl remained.

"Looks like that dog's got one up on you" Crazy Stan said, winking at Daryl with his good eye. Daryl wouldn't hit an elderly person-unless they deserved it-but Stan wasn't just an elder, he was also downright insane. Most of the time he'd sit on his porch and talk to himself, laughing or crying if he was in the mood to; other times he'd take a walk and talk to anything that moved, or nothing at all. Daryl was glad he died before the turn. Stan would've never made it.

"Shuddup. It's just a damn, stupid dog is all. I hate it."

"He doesn't seem so dumb-smartest dog I ever done seen actually. But boy, is he bad" Crazy Stan shook his head, chuckling. "I hear him barkin' even by my house; startles all my chickens every night."

"Well too bad" Daryl snapped, standing up and dusting himself off "'Cause he don't listen to nobody, just gon' bark whenever he wants to. Ain't no controlling him."

"Maybe" Crazy Stan said with a crinkle in his eye "but you know what you should do?" then his expression changed, and Daryl had never in his life seen a more earnest look "You should kill it." Then the old man smiled again, but the sincerity in his face didn't fade.

"The hell I'd do that for?" Daryl finally stuttered, trying to catch his thoughts. He wasn't expecting that.

The man shrugged in reply, pointing his walking stick towards the hound. "'Cause you hate it" he stated matter-of-factly, before signaling the stick towards his neck, moving his shirt over slightly to point out his old bruises. "And you hate him too, right?"

His father. The beatings. It was...apparent.

Daryl didn't respond, just tugged his shirt back in place.

"Just think about it" Crazy Stan chimed before turning and walking his own way "It's so noisy 'round these parts..."

* * *

Stan's words still echoed in his mind even late at night. Daryl turned about a million times in his bed, but no position made him any less hot and bothered. Finally when he had enough, he sat up and planted his feet on the cool floor.

He could do it. He could clean the mess up afterward and no one would know, especially not his old man. That asshole came in later than usual today, but that was something the Dixon was grateful for because it meant he went straight to bed. Didn't even look Daryl's way. Not like some days where he'd barge in the door, searching for him-hunting him down. The smell of beer was one Daryl was familiar with, and one he associated with his beatings now. Always the smell of beer, and that incessant barking outside. A hand caressed the bruises on his neck; he could still sense the raspy touch of the walking stick on them, and his fingers pressed down on the spot until it ached.

He stood up, threw on a pair of pants and grabbed his crossbow. There was a sour taste in his mouth; his lips were cracked and dry. But all of this was much better compared to the taste of blood on his tongue and the feeling of swelling. How many times had he woken up to those? He could vaguely count about twenty ever since his mom died, or better put, the asshole's punching bag became unusable. Daryl didn't really visit her, he never had the time or so he told himself; she was scattered in the backyard by some tulips that were long dead by now-but he never went by there. That asshole never did either. Only Merle would occasionally visit the spot and have a moment to himself; sometimes Daryl would catch him weeding or watering the flowers-other times he'd catch him pissing on them.

Merle knew about the beatings...or at least Daryl was sure he did. Never mentioned it though, just acted blind. "Ya fell?" he'd ask "You one clumsy dumbass, brother" then he'd laugh, but it was always strained. Honestly, what else was he gonna do? Daryl just wasn't small enough anymore to win his sympathy. He was on his own now, and that was his big brother's way of telling him.

The front door creaked as he opened it, and he made sure to not let it crash as he slipped out. It was as humid outside as it was inside, that was the good ol' Georgia heat, and Daryl was already sweating bullets because of it. His heart was also racing, so maybe it wasn't all just the heat. It didn't take him long to find the dog, it was just laying there asleep-for once. He couldn't really remember a time when the mutt took a nap, it always seemed like he was in a constant ruckus. There were times where the noise would irritate his old man, but he was far too pussy to take it out on the dog, afraid it'd bite him or something, so he'd take it out on Daryl. Just knock him around a bit; once he grabbed him by the hair and pulled him outside, demanding Daryl shut the dog up. Of course he couldn't so he kept inching the boy's hand closer to its frothing mouth, threatening to let it bite his fingers off for being so useless. He ended up pissing himself before that happened.

He raised the crossbow in place, his eyes watching the animal. It's face was relaxed and Daryl could see the rise and fall of its chest as it breathed. A leg would twitch then and now, but aside from that it slept peacefully. From this perspective it looked just like any other hound dog, a simple animal who didn't know any better; a creature of instinct. Daryl wondered if he was abused too, or had been; he never looked at him close enough to see any scars, but if he did, would he find some? What would that say to him about the dog, about why it behaved the way it did-would it all suddenly make sense? He didn't know where it came from or who his old man bought it from. Out at night like this, it was a dog and nothing more.

Shit.

Daryl lowered the crossbow, passing a rough hand through his perspiring head. He didn't want to chicken out, but now he couldn't bring himself to do it. Maybe he should go back to sleep, it was late and he was tired, even a little dizzy from the heat and lack of food; he swore his head was spinning. _'But you came here to do it'_ he thought in a voice not quite his own _'so you best not pussy out of it'._ He swayed the crossbow hesitantly.

_'I can't do it...just a dumb dog.'_

_'A dumb dog?'_ the voice in his head retorted, and he could hear the disgust in his tone _'Does a 'dumb dog' go chasing you around like the devil? Bullying you like you some pre-schooler?'_

He didn't answer, a sinking feeling of embarrassment taking over.

_'No, this one is smart like that crazy man said; it knows what it's doing. Yous the dumb one here baby brother.'_

He recognized it then, it was Merle's voice. He wasn't physically there, but inside of him somewhere-egging him on, pushing him into submission. Or moreover, encouraging Daryl to feel stronger.

_'Shuddup, I ain't dumb'_ he didn't bother questioning it, there was a...familiarity that made all of this comforting. Someone to finally talk to. _'It wouldn't make me any better than that asshole if I went through with it. And it wouldn't make me feel better.'_

_'Aww, ya not gon' feel better? Ya gon' have a cry when ya get done, then take out your tampon? No-no boy, this is about showing that bastard in there that you ain't puttin up with his shit no more. Don'cha get it? There was never a possibility to be the bigger man; we don't have that kind of luxury brother-wake up and smell the flowers! We're a bunch of rednecks in a little redneck town, and we ain't never gon' be nothing more. YOU ain't never gon' nothing more. So cut the sanctimonious bull will ya?'_

Daryl began pacing.

_'I ain't being sancti-whatever, I just...'_ but he didn't really have a good explanation at this point; he felt bad for it, wasn't that enough?

_'Don't tell me it's 'cause ya still afraid to kill. I know you got it in ya brother, I've seen it.'_

_'No, it ain't that.'_

Both voices stayed quiet for a moment, making the Dixon pause in his tracks.

_'Ya know what? Maybe yous right. You're just like this here dog Daryl'_ Merle continued in a more even tone, and Daryl felt a pang within him for letting that belief slip into his worse half's attention. _'Ya act like ya tough, barkin' and bitin' but by the end of the day ya nothing more that old man's bitch.'_

Instantly, Daryl felt a heat wave run from within his chest and up to the top of his head.

_'Shut yer dirty mouth.'_

_'Mmhmm, snap all you want, but I call 'em like I see 'em. Yous nothin but a bitch for that asshole. Ya just stay out of his way, let him do what he wants-smack ya round a little. Ya don't care. Hell, I bet ya like it.'_

His grip tightened around the crossbow, and he let out a long, uneven breath.

_'I know what'chur doin' and it ain't gon' work.'_ Merle had done this before, pushed his buttons so far that Daryl exploded. He loved using mind games to get what he wanted, and no matter how many times Daryl told himself to let it slide, he let his anger get the best of him.

_'I bet ya ain't killin' that dog right now'_ Merle's voice boomed, and Daryl's head pulsed as if his brother were actually spitting in his face _'because yous afraid of that asshole. Yous afraid he'll get angry with ya, and then guess what he's gonna do when he finds out?'_

_'I said shuddup!'_

_'He's gonna beat ya dry, and then you'll sit there and wonder just like you always do-'_

The crossbow raised in one, sudden movement, pointing straight at the hound's head. His breath was shaky, but his hands were steady.

_'-what it is you did wrong, so you can be a better boy next time.'_

Daryl watched as the dog's ears perked up, catching onto his presence; he saw its eyelids begin to open, and its legs begin to lift its body. Before long there was that snarl forming on its face, a grotesque mask that wiped away any memory he had of seeing the creature frail and asleep.

Funny enough, it didn't make a sound when the bolt went through its skull. Not a whimper or a whine, just the soft thud of its body dropping motionless on the floor. Daryl couldn't even hear his own heaving breathing, there was just a ringing in his ears.

"I ain't nobody's bitch."

* * *

Later that night, or better put, sometime later that morning he lay in bed, face up and running a finger through his blisters. He had spent the entire night burying the dog; it felt like an out of bodied experience the way he snapped the leash with his bare hands, cleaned the blood and made it seem as though the mutt had ran away. He buried it somewhere he knew his dad would never bother looking, in a dead tulip garden in the backyard. Although he never did bother looking at all, merely called its named out twice and gave up with a low grumble.

Daryl dug the grave deep, deeper than he probably should have, but he couldn't stop. Just kept on digging the whole night through until his hands were too sore and broken to continue. He was covered in dirt, grime and blood, yet didn't bother to take a shower. Instead he lay there, running his finger through the blisters over and over again, looking at the fan spin overhead. His mind wandered to Merle, to both of them; the one out there...the one in his mind. He had gone quiet after Daryl shot the bolt, it was just him and his thoughts since then and an uneasy feeling of confusion and doubt that made him nearly nauseous.

He had about a million questions.

Daryl thought about the voices, about the whole incident that happened hours ago, until his mind spun. He didn't have any answers right now, at least not any good ones. His body stopped fiddling with his hands, and he turned on his side, closing his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep. It must've been the heat that caused it. Could've been the lack of sleep, or not enough food. Perhaps he was getting sick of the barking like Stan was.

Or maybe he was crazy too.

* * *

_**Wow sorry this took so long! Even though it was only about 1k words longer than the last chapter, it felt so much longer to write!**_

**_Please leave a review and let me know if you liked this or not, every bit of feed back helps! _**

**_I'll try to be faster with the next chapter._**

**_Thanks for your time!_**

**_~TS2B_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Baby Brother**

**Chapter Three**

_**P/N: Warning! This chapter contains a lot of racist terms/offensive ethnic slurs. If you are uncomfortable with that, please feel free to skip this chapter entirely. You do not need to read this chapter in order to move onto the next, since the stories are not interlaced. Thanks!**_

* * *

She was different from the rest, and as overused as it sounded Daryl couldn't help but think it.

Her boots were always tracked with stick-ticks, and she told him she never bothered to clean them because she'd just dirty them up again. That was actually one of the biggest truths she'd ever told him, because he had seen it first hand. Yet, over those pair of filths she'd always wear a sundress that was as clean as day, and occasionally when Daryl was able to get a little closer to her than usual, he could smell the scent of laundry fresh out of the dryer. He tried not to get so close with the way the smell churned his stomach.

She never minded the way he'd lick his fingers after eating, since she'd just wipe her dirty fingers on her boots and continue on just the same. He in return never flinched when she'd catch snakes with her bare hands, even though deep inside he thought they were the Devil's way of forcing his feet under the covers despite the Georgia heat. Her nose didn't pinch at him like some other girl's at school-when he still attended it anyways-their frowns obvious and deep as if they had caught a whiff of a dying animal every time he passed by; it would pinch though, when she smiled widely, and if he could get her to laugh hard enough she'd let out a snort or two. Ironically her parents weren't really from the country; they moved in from some city he couldn't remember the name of, but she never complained about missing home. She took like a fish to water in this hellhole.

Sometimes they would walk by the lake where she'd dip her boots in all the way, and he'd catch her once or twice saying she wished she lived here all her life...and he wished she had too. Would've made the days go by easier. Though he'd never actually say that aloud. He'd just watch her, saw the way her dark eyes looked out into the water, her mind somewhere else completely, and his brain battled between wondering what she was thinking about and just looking at her. When she'd catch him in the act he'd look away right quick, suddenly self-conscious and a little red at the neck; her eyes would smile at him before giving him a slap on the arm.

"You keep lookin' like that Daryl Dixon and yer eyes will fall off" she'd tease in her mock country accent, which sounded somewhere between British and French and nothing like country at all.

"Psh what'ev" he'd push back, knowing she wouldn't fret "I was just lookin' at a tree over there" a horrible excuse, but he was running out of objects. "Don' go flatterin' yerself."

That won him a laugh, not a snort, but a laugh nonetheless.

At night they would track down some dirt road that was noisier than most streets; the cicadas unrelentingly screeched, the toads nearly flew from one side of the grass to the other, and overall it was one big, damn mess. But it was also nice, he guessed, and she always seemed to like walking that path to her home. He'd always drop her off around eleven, her dad nodding at him with that look of acknowledgement he always had. Relaxed man he was, and if she had never told him he was a doctor Daryl would've never guessed; he just sat there at his porch at night, carving away at some piece of wood until it became a recognizable figure.

"Evenin' Friend" was all he ever said, and Daryl would nod with an awkward air about him. 'Friend' was what he called Daryl and while it seemed harmless enough, the redneck didn't know if he should have taken that as an aloof term. A way to separate him from his daughter-his family-to him he was just a friend. Sue's Friend, and nothing more. Maybe he was putting too much thought behind it, but that's how Daryl felt, and despite whatever the nickname actually meant he didn't mind it all too much. Hell he'd been called a lot of things growing up, but Friend wasn't one of them.

Early mornings they'd start somewhere where he could set his hunting gear in an open space, and she'd watch him as he practiced his crossbow. She wouldn't say anything the entire time, which Daryl secretly relished since there was nothing better than the sound of a bolt hitting a target, or the leaves rustling around them. Then, when he ran out of targets or became bored, he'd lay down beside her on the dirt floor without saying a peep. It'd stay that way until the sky transcended from a dark blue to a bright orange and finally set on the blazing sun overhead. He thought about how close she was at those times; how he could simply inch his hand a bit to the right and grab hers. Maybe see how she would react to it; if she'd just let him keep it there or let him touch her more...hold her maybe. Kiss her.

The idea alone was enough to leave him petrified, and the possibility of rejection struck him stiff in his place. He was grounded, his hands and legs bolted to the dirt as a warning that he shouldn't even try it. All he could do with certainty was stare at the sky and lick his dry lips nervously. It kept everything between them easier that way.

* * *

Merle always had a way with women, Daryl...not so much. Puberty hadn't been kind to him, not socially anyways; physically he was as fit as a fiddle, and although he wasn't _the most_ handsome guy around he sure as hell wasn't the ugliest. He had hit a good growth spurt and his muscles had an even tone to them, his voice dropped but it was raspy from his constant smoking, not that he minded enough to quit. But all of those good attributes paled in comparison to what he observed in the mirror, and though he didn't know it, Daryl was his own worst enemy. His hair was too thin and his tan made him look dirty, not to mention that his stubble grew unevenly which made him seriously consider just growing it out. He was in his own mind a mess, and the less he pretended to care about it the better it was for him.

But that was difficult to do around girls. Actually, not difficult, _nearly impossible._

He couldn't shove the insecurities in the back of his head when they stood so closely, curling their lips in a way that made him stiff and uncomfortable. What did his hair look like? His clothes? Did he reek of cigarettes? Most likely. Daryl just wanted to be alone at those times, the pressure of having others scrutinizing him was almost suffocating. But the girls just stared on, sometimes making small talk before becoming disinterested and leaving him altogether. Most times it appeared as if they were waiting for something, for him do or say anything-they were expectant, but of what? He wasn't quite sure, and the hanging question always left him frustrated in every type of way.

It was only through time and observation that he learned what those prolonged stares and cheeky side glances meant-they were sizing him up.

Women were manipulative he concluded, and part of getting what they wanted meant they had to do some "window-shopping" before they committed their time and effort to you. They needed to see what he had to offer them, whether it was monetary or emotionally. Although the latter was much less common; Daryl knew the women that spent their nights in dingy bars like the one he went to weren't interested in love, they just wanted to get in his pants just to see how deep his pockets went. Not that the men were any better, any women in their pants was fine by them even if they dug them dry.

That game pissed him off, it really did. He wanted to be angry at those bunch'a skanks for wanting nothing more out of him than a prize, but the truth was that he was angrier at himself for having nothing to offer. What could he give them? All he had was an old crossbow, a beat up hand-me-down truck, and a horrible cigarette addiction. He was-at his best-mediocre, and every time he had to see those eyes of theirs lose their shine in disappointment, and their lips close shut with nothing else to say, every time he had to watch a girl turn away meant that he had been classified as useless. An insignificant nothing. Fuck, he didn't even have the balls to call out to them, just stood there like a dumb founded retard.

Most of them knew him by now and didn't bother to approach anymore, they'd began referring to him as "Merle's brother" and let him be. From the sidelines he eyed Merle, always the life of the party and usually the drunkest; that man let nothing stop him and every game that could've been played or conversation that could've been started was started by him-every fight too. Daryl could count on both hands the number of bar brawls he'd been in because of his big brother's stupid mouth. Sometimes he wondered if he looked for a fight just for the hell of it. But again, that never stopped him; he always came back with the biggest grin on his face, one girl around his arm and a beer in the other. He'd never admit it, but Daryl was bitter with jealousy; somewhere in the back of his mind he wanted to be that kind of person, someone who was recognized and welcomed. Damn he wasn't asking to be a freaking superstar, but a crowd here and there wouldn't hurt! Yet, another side of him felt ashamed to think that he needed any kind of approval from a bunch of drunk shit-heads, or anyone really. He'd never had anyone's approval before and he sure as hell didn't need it now! It was a constant argument between his desires and pride, and neither ended up winning. Daryl would become so aggravated that he would just go outside and smoke a pack until Merle tumbled after and ask for a ride home.

There was one night though-he didn't exactly know what might have caused it, but Merle was mercilessly persistent that day. From the corner of the bar he watched his older brother argued with a group in hushed tones, then give him a couple of glances before making his way over to him.

"C'mon Darylina" he shoved a beer in Daryl's face without preamble "have a drink. I can't have ya sittin' here all night sober like yous waitin' for yer prom date to show up."

"Nah man" with a hand the younger Dixon dismissed the bottle to the side "I ain't in the mood."

"Not in the mood?" and Daryl watched as a quick mask of anger passed onto Merle's face, his glossy eyes beaming down at him with clear ferocity. "Listen here boy-I ain't havin' my brother sittin' alone in a bar corner like some kinda faggot no more. Yous a freakin' embarrassment to have 'round, and I ain't gonna let ya keep humiliating me. Why do ya even bother comin' here if yous just gonna sulk all night and watch everyone else? The hell's wrong with ya?" he shoved the drink in Daryl's face more aggressively "Drink."

Daryl eyes looked up wearily to Merle's face then over his shoulder; the group he had left earlier was staring at them with these small smiles on their faces. He observed as some turned around, spoke something incoherent, and made the entire group laugh. Daryl looked back to Merle.

"Gimmie that damn thing."

He had never gotten so blind drunk in his life. He drank while he talked to Merle, continued to drink as he moved to the group, lost count by the time he got to the dance floor with some girl he barely knew, and forgot he was drinking at all when he left with her. It was the first time he woke in someone else's bed, but he couldn't even remember how he got there in the first place; Daryl arose with a splitting headache, put his clothes on backwards and stumbled out of the house. It didn't feel like he dreamt it would; he always envisioned it would've happened differently. There was an expectation of something more; an idea that he'd be left with some kind of feeling of personal satisfaction, or understanding _of something greater_. Like something-though he didn't know what-would suddenly make sense.

But it didn't. Everything was the same except maybe that girl's roses, cause he managed to vomit quite a bit on them.

When he arrived home Merle was sitting out on the porch, still drinking. He took one look at Daryl with his glossy eyes, gave him a wry smile, and nodded in that breezy way of his. "That's how we get it done boy" was all he said, or if he said something more Daryl didn't hear him. The younger Dixon crashed on the couch without bothering to move any of Merle's crap out of the way; he didn't understand his brother's approval, let alone his harassment that night. There was a nagging at the back of Daryl's mind that told him Merle was serious about being embarrassed by him, but why did that surprise him? Let alone sadden him? What the hell made him believe otherwise? But maybe it wasn't the sex, or the lack there of, that disappointed his older brother; it was seeing him as an outcast, as someone who was pushed around and chose to stay silent. Simply put, Merle saw he was a total pussy without him and with him present, which riled his anger.

And maybe he was right.

Daryl felt sick to his stomach and his bones cracked and ached, but there was a high still in him. Past the weariness and sense of dissatisfaction, there was a steady beat of his heart; a flash of memory that would show him bits and pieces of the night he had. A picture of the crowd smiling, girls on each of his arms looking up at him, the dancing and kissing and drinking, the times they actually called him by his name and not by Merle's Brother-just Daryl. For once he wasn't ignored, or seen as the weakest of the Dixons; he didn't have to fight his way through people and make everything harder for himself. Daryl just gave in, and it was so incredibly easy.

Slowly, he could feel a small smile creep up to his face.

* * *

"Ya ain't lookin' so good" he told her one morning, watching the way her head looked to the dirt road below them. "Yous alright?"

"Yeah...no, it's just...things aren't going so well at home. They fired my mom" she lifted her head just to let out the most exasperated sigh Daryl ever heard "the cast prevented her from working, and they said she used up all of her sick days. She's not due to take that thing off for another three months, and quite frankly, I highly doubt anyone will want to hire a woman in her state. I still can't can't find a job, it's like no matter where I go the signs always say 'Hiring' but they never mean it. I've applied just about everywhere Daryl...I don't know where we lie in this town, economically anyways. Everything's just kinda tense all the time." Her hand came up to stroke her other arm, as if she might begin to shiver if she didn't. "My dad can't do everything alone, and I wanna help but..."

He stayed quiet for a moment, pondering a proper answer but everything seemed to fall flat. "Hey ya just...keep holdin' on then. This town's a load'a crap, they don't know a good person when they seem 'em. Ya just gon' have to keep tryin' is all-yous smart and nice and shit" he began to gruff, his fingers scratching at the side of his neck "I'm sure you'll find somethin'; it'll work out." Normally he would've never made such an assumption, there was a big possibility that it wouldn't end up well for them; most people in this town made their living out of stealing or selling drugs. The ones who didn't had their connections or roots planted here for ages; it was tough for a newcomer who had neither.

"Thanks" her lips curled upward in a way that he liked, her expression lightening. A calm silence hung between them.

"You know...we've known each other for quite some time now" he noticed the way she got closer to him, her boots kicking up dirt. "You're a real good friend Daryl Dixon. You've been there through thick and thin with me...but I still don't know much about you."

"Ain't much to tell."

"That's what you always say, but again, I just want to put it out there that if you ever need to talk-"

"What are we in a soap opera?"

"Don't sass me boy" she nudged him in the arm teasingly, and he could've sworn she kept her hand there longer than usual "I mean it."

"Alright, alright damn. Stop hassling me" he wasn't going to lie, he'd thought about telling her before, about everything he'd been through; the way his mother treated him, his abusive relationship with his father, just empty out the whole damn lot, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't there yet; he was miles away from there, and although he appreciated the way she opened up to him, it would be unlikely that he'd do the same. Just wasn't in him to talk.

"Guess I'll see ya later" he said once they reached his front yard. Ever since she started looking for a job they were starting to spend less time together; she just always had somewhere to be while he was stuck lingering about, jobless but somehow making it by. "Hey" his hand outstretched on its own accord, and Daryl could feel his heart drumming in his ears when it made contact with her arm, sliding down from her elbow to her hand. "Good luck today."

"Thanks" she said but her eyes were fixated on his hand, and Daryl grew red at the neck. He shouldn't have done that, she was probably all kinds of uncomfortable. When he tried to retract it though, she held it in place by wrapping her pinky around his. His eyes shot to hers in surprise, yet she was already looking at him steadily, capturing his reaction as much as he was capturing hers. Cautiously he felt his fingers wrap around her own, slowly running his thumb across the top of her hand as if expecting her to push him away at any moment. She didn't, just followed the motion by intertwining her fingers in his, her body rising like a tide so that the space in between their faces was almost gone. Daryl held his breath.

Softly, almost meticulously as if to not scare him, she planted a small kiss at his temple. He swore if he blinked he might have missed it, but the moment felt slow in his brain; a cool wave traveling from the spot and down to his toes.

"You're something else Daryl Dixon" she cooed in a hushed voice, her body dropping back into its original position. Daryl swallowed, looking at her with a frog caught in his throat. Their eyes kept hold of one another before she finally gave in and looked away, embarrassed by his attentiveness.

"I'll...be seein' ya" he finally grumbled, shoving his tingling hands in his pockets.

She gave him a small smile in response, and Daryl watched her go until she disappeared beyond the trees. He could still feel his heart pounding in sync with his feet on the way home, his mind buzzing and alive. His lower lip must've looked like shit because he had bit it about a million times by then, chewing harder when he remembered the way her lips felt on his skin. The warm rush it gave him.

It wasn't until he got closer to his porch that the warmth ceased, plummeting from a steady hum in his chest to a cold trickle down his back. There, standing by the wooden beam on the porch, was Merle.

Daryl hadn't seen his brother for a year or two since he had been called to attend his training for the army. You'd think that joining the military would change a man's life, turn him around from his ways, but that was a fool's lie to believe. Merle was still the same as ever, maybe even a bit more aggressive and presumptuous since his join; from what Daryl heard, it was going well for him there. He was smart and strong and every bit the army man in his own right-more specifically put-he could shout orders left and right while striking fear into any poor soul that crossed his way. When he did come home the brothers fought more than usual. They'd get into heated arguments, even a physical altercation or two until Daryl stormed out of the house and came back to an empty one. They just didn't see eye to eye anymore. Daryl didn't know if Merle was the who changed, or if it was him. Maybe both.

Whatever the case he wasn't happy to see him, especially with that cold sneer on his face. Daryl knew what he was about to say before he even opened his mouth.

"Hey baby brother" Merle sang as Daryl brushed passed him, bumping shoulders and not bothering to look back. "You ain't gonna say 'Hi' to yer own kin?"

"Hey" Daryl mumbled as he set his bag down on the couch, moved some empty beer cans aside, and rummaged around for nothing in particular. He just wanted to keep his back to his brother as often as he could, though it was difficult to do with the way Merle's eyes glared at him. If he could, he would have drilled a hole straight through Daryl. His older brother's annoyance was only further confirmed when he heard him make something of a scoffing sound.

"What's this? I go away for a couple months and ya treat me like shit? Act like yous somethin' better than me just 'cause you take showers now and fuck nigger girls."

Before Daryl could even think to do it, his body turned around and shoved Merle with enough impulse to send him back a step or two.

And that was the beginning of it.

"Ya shut the fuck up" he pointed at his brother, a non-verbal threat that he was ready to knock him senseless if he didn't do as he said. But Merle wasn't angry in turn, only amused at his brother's outrage, maybe a little surprised.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Look at'cha boy, all worked up over some gator-bait! If I didn't know ya any better I would've thought ya liked her!" He straightened out his shirt and approached Daryl, getting in his face as if challenging him to do something again.

"I said watch yer mouth ya son of a bitch" Daryl could feel a fire take over him, the more he had to look at his brother's smug face, the more he wanted to rearrange it with his fist. "Ya know what? I don't wanna hear yer shit this early in the mornin' man-_just go_. I don't want ya here."

If he wasn't angry before Merle sure was now, and Daryl saw that familiar mask cover his brother's face, as if he was somehow disconnected now, or another person entirely-an oppressive, vaguely familiar figure.

"Well...ya are being serious 'bout this...ya actually do like that coon" an expression, something close to contempt, swept over Merle's face and Daryl could now smell the alcohol on his breath. "Since when the hell did ya become a coon chaser? Has anybody seen ya with this girl? Are you even _thinkin'_ straight?" He smacked a hand against Daryl's temple, the same side that was kissed not too long ago, but Daryl didn't flinch. "Shit boy, why do I even bother tryin' to help you if you just come and screw everythin' up yerself? Out of all the pretty, white girls I introduce ya to and ya bring home _that_?"

Daryl knew that Sue being black was an issue for the townspeople, and an even bigger problem that he as a white man chose to be with her. He noticed the way people looked at them as they walked across the street, their faces clearly disgusted. The humiliating tones they used. She barely had any friends besides him and although he made no mention of it, he figured that the reason she wasn't being hired was due in part to her skin color. People just didn't want to hire blacks-but he was also pretty sure she knew that too; the untouched topic hung silently between them, just over the surface of their little bubble like a pin waiting to drop. He never cared though, about what she looked like or what others thought of him. That difference didn't stop them from going down the lake and having a drink, or walking her home at night while they talked. He liked her...a lot, and he wasn't about to let a couple of hicks change that. Racism was their problem, not hers and not his.

His brother was a different story altogether.

Daryl let out a scoff of his own, shaking his head and taking a step back about to dismiss him again when Merle took him by the shirt and gave him a rough shake. "What would ma' say if she was still alive, lookin' at ya parading around with no self respect? No Dixon would be caught alive mixing with one of those Billy Reubens!"

"Get the fuck off me man" Daryl tried to pry Merle's hands off of him, but it was vain against his strong grip. He was beginning to feel a familiar helplessness that made his throat start to close.

Merle was not like his father however, and complied with his brother's wishes by shoving him away, nearly making him fall backwards. "I leave ya for five fucking seconds and ya go and make this happen? Ain't ya lonely enough now? Ya want the entire town hatin' ya!? They gon' talk about us, why can't ya see that? Lowering yer standards, ruining the family blood the way yous doing."

"I don't care what they say, bunch'a dumbass rednecks anyway" Daryl retorted, his body rigid and defensive.

"And yer big brother? Ya don't care what _I_ gotta say? Ya think I'm sayin' this cause I want ya to impress those sons'a bitches?" Merle pointed outside, gesturing to the town "No baby brother ya ain't seein' the big picture here. I want those sons'a bitches to respect ya-to fear ya. How they gon' do that when ya got a nigger girl, round yer arm? She'll only bring ya trouble-"

"Don't even know her-"

"I don't need to! Those bozacks are all the same. Soon she'll be pinnin' ya down, making you her bitch until she finds a good time to leave you, then guess what? They'll laugh at ya brother! They'll spit right in yer face, and that nigger will be front in the line."

"Shut up Merle, that ain't-"

"Listen to me brother, they spin lies around you those people. She tryin' to control ya Daryl, she don't love ya. I saw the way ya got when she kissed ya, like fuckin' puddy in her hands. She was eatin' it all up! She owns ya now boy, and yous just too blind to see it. She'll be having ya raising her six babies without a penny to spare for some damn water!"

Daryl's brows furrowed, his lips becoming a thin line. The more Merle spoke the more it broke him down, made him rethink everything he thought he already knew. Daryl was no saint, he did have his own prejudices and had belittled foreigners and people of color before; that game was nothing new to him, but he just never_ felt it_. It was more like he was talking shit because everyone else was doing it, merely following the crowd because that was easier and far more comfortable than being on the opposite side of things. Maybe he could even come to admit that he did begin to feel some of those prejudices himself, but not like them. Not like Merle or his parents, it was just a rough surface in comparison. Yet...

"No one loves ya except me-ya ain't got no one but me. It's always been that way brother; I was the only one by your side" Merle leaned against the wall, his blue eyes glaring his way "And ya gon' trade me in for some coon? Yer only family?" His tongue clicked in vexation before Daryl could reply. "Let me put this in clear terms sunshine..._no_ brother of mine is a nigger lover."

The younger Dixon couldn't get another word out before Merle stormed out of the living room to the outside, slamming the screen door behind him with such force that it just swung open again.

Sue wasn't that type of person, one to use him and leave him with nothing. But did he really know her? Know her that well? What was stopping her from doing as Merle said? What if she was really was a different person behind closed doors? Hell, Daryl knew so many two-faced people in his life he really didn't find it that hard to believe. It was that sense of uncertainty creeping in the back of his mind that made him go quiet. If Merle did end up being right, well, Daryl had already been there before, and he didn't know if he could crawl back to him with an ounce of pride still left. He thought about the night when everyone treated him differently, like he was OK for once to be around; he remembered enjoying the experience, like a weight lifted off of his pounding head. That hadn't happened in a long time, and while he was happy with Sue, it had also gotten to be tougher, especially when she wasn't around. If anything everyone treated him worse than before; he had gone from being ignored to being treated like some kind of a traitor. He though about it all the time, kept him up at night, but Daryl didn't want to think anymore. If he was honest with himself, he just wanted a break from it all. An easy outlet...like before.

This whole thing was just a big headache he needed to drink away.

Daryl raised his hands to his face, tired and exasperated, then ran them through his hair all the while keeping his eyes on Merle. His brother wasn't looking back, although Daryl had a feeling Merle was keeping his actions present. His back was faced to him as he leaned against the porch railing with a new drink in his hand, chugging it down rapidly.

With a sigh that came from deep within his core, Daryl walked out to the porch and settled himself beside Merle. The two didn't speak for a long while, just let the wind howl for them.

"Dammit boy, what happened to us? It's like we ain't the same no more...can barely talk to one another without wantin' to rip each other's throats out." Done with his beer, Merle fumbled around for a cigarette in his pocket.

"Yeah" Daryl lit the end of the grit for him and watched the smoke rise, his voice low and gruff as he spoke.

"We treatin' each other like shit...more so than usual anyway...we're better than that. We're brothers. We're supposed to have each other's back. But it just ain't the same" Merle repeated with less focus, the cigarette hanging from his lips loosely.

The younger brother felt a pity consume him; he hated fighting with Merle, and knowing that they were drifting apart when he was the only family he had left was like a storm he had to bear. If he was honest with himself, he missed the way it was between them before too.

Daryl merely looked at his brother in that perusal manner of his before nudging his elbow.

"Hand me one of those" he gestured towards the beer cooler next to Merle, who complied with his wish. "Let's just shut up and drink for a while."

* * *

Daryl didn't see Sue trudge towards them until he heard the loud rustle of her boots crushing against the grass. His eyes looked outward toward the dark night, barely making out her figure as she neared the dim glow of the porch light. A frown creased his face, the amount of alcohol in his system made the ground spin as he separated himself from the railing.

"Looks like Banjo-lips is back" Merle chuckled behind him, taking another sip of moonshine. Daryl turned to give him a playful prod before leaving the porch to meet her halfway. From the light of the glow he could see her face was tired but happy to see him, a smile crossing her face as they closed the distance between them.

"I came to see you...I just couldn't stop thinking" she bit her bottom lip nervously, but Daryl was numb to the endearing gesture "about you. About...this morning. I didn't wan-"

"What about it?" Daryl cut in curtly, taking a second to spit out a bad taste in his mouth.

"Ahm, well" Sue appeared slightly aback by his bluntness "I think it's time that we establish what this is..." she gestured to them both "...what we have."

"We ain't got nothin'."

"'_We ain't got nothin_''?"

"Look" Daryl scoffed, slightly shaking his head at Sue's incredulous tone "I think yer gettin' the wrong impression here."

"All this time we've spent together and you think I'm 'gettin' the wrong impression'? I mean-what-do you want to just be friends?" there was a pain in her voice that matched her expression, and she grabbed at her other arm uncomfortably "I mean I'm fine with that...we can keep things the way we have, but I just thought that maybe-"

"Yer not getting it-"

"What? Give me a break here Daryl, I'm putting myself out there and you're not making it easy-"

"No. Let me make it clear-I don't want to see yer nigger face around me no more."

Sue's mouth dropped in shock, her eyes widening at Daryl's words. Her eyes searched for him frantically, but unlike before she didn't find him there.

"What did you say?"

"Ya heard me right. People are startin' to talk shit, thinkin' we's together or somethin'-"

"People here are always talking shit" Sue's fists were clench now, and she spat each word with venom "Just didn't think you would be too."

"I just don't like people thinkin' I'm datin' a nigger. Yous alright and all that sometimes, but I think yous just gotten too close."

"You better watch your mouth Dixon before thinking about calling me that again or I swear-"

"What? Ya swear what?" there was a sneer playing on Daryl's lips, his body leaning forward slightly as if daring her to finish that sentence, but Sue didn't; she just eyed him angrily almost disbelievingly.

"You're drunk" she spat instead, pushing him farther from her with a hand.

"Yeah, but my head's clear and I don't want ya or Cotton-Picker family around me or my kin."

"Why are you saying this to me?" the frantic woman wrung at her shirt nervously, hands shaking "_Why are being this way_?! This...This isn't you."

"Ya don't even know me."

Sue raised her hand in one violent move, her expression twisting in between hostility and overwhelming sadness. Daryl could see she was on the verge of tears, but it didn't move him to sympathy; the scenery just kept spinning around him as he watched her with a bland expression. Suddenly there was a shuffle behind him, and soon he felt a weight on his shoulder that turned out to be Merle's hand; his brother's shadow engulfed Sue's entire figure as he stood beside him, hiding her in the darkness and stopping her slap midway.

"Ya heard my brother nigger. Now get out."

In the dark Daryl could hear Sue's ragged breathing, a small noise emitting from her that demonstrated something close to fear. She retreated slowly at first before taking off in a run, her boots separating the tall grass with every step.

She didn't look back once.

Without saying a word Daryl made his way back to the porch, his body dropping clumsily to the wooden floor in a sitting position. The only sounds that rang in his ears were Merle's hooting laughter and the constant buzz of the bug zapper. His brother continued on about something, but Daryl didn't pay much attention as he took another swig of...he didn't know what at this point. He lay there, knowing that he had fucked up big time, and that maybe if he had the balls to he would get up, run to her as fast as his legs would allow, and beg for her forgiveness; let her know it was just a drunken stupor he was in, and that he didn't mean it. And maybe, most likely, he'd receive her forgiveness. But he didn't go after her that night, the next day, or any time afterward. Because he knew that it'd be a big, fat lie to say he didn't know exactly what he was doing. It wasn't until the early days of the turn that he ran to that small house of hers, looking frantically in the windows, and braking down the door only to find it was empty inside.

Some time passed and he could hear his brother's snores fill the air. Daryl turned in his spot and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the crushing feeling inside of him. With any luck he'd be able to catch some sleep too.

And that was the end of it, but it wasn't as easy as he thought.

* * *

_**Alright! So-yeah. I know I promised this chapter a lot earlier than I delivered, but I just had the most troubling time writing it. Really I must have re-read and re-written over a million times. I already knew what I wanted in my mind, but getting it down into specific words was far more challenging than anticipated. I also had to do a lot of 'research' and get into a mind-set that I wasn't necessarily used to, which is a trying to see life through a racist point of view. It's very perplexing to try to make an argument with such a foolish basis and then uphold it strongly. It's safe to say that my iPad history makes me look incredibly suspicious. **_

_**I always supposed that Daryl wasn't a racist by nature (not fully anyways), but he might have acted that way because of Merle or the people around him. I even go as far as saying that Merle is also a product of his surroundings in this way, except he's just more rooted to other people's views. Although this story had more to do with just race, like how the brother's succumb to peer pressure and try to make a name for themselves as Dixons.**_

_**This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I thought, and I will only being writing two more chapters before completing this story. I may take a long time, but I'm extremely persistent!**_

_**Please don't forget to review and thanks for your time! **_

_**~TS2B**_


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